


A Turn of Time

by allthespiceyoullwant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthespiceyoullwant/pseuds/allthespiceyoullwant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa travels back in time and meets Petyr, Catelyn and Lysa when they were still children. What she sees will change her relationship to Petyr forever...</p><p>Requested by petyrfile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

An eerie beauty lay over King's Landing. The bay was aflame, and the wildfire's green light cascaded over the city.

It did not matter to Sansa. The Battle of the Blackwater raged outside, men were fighting and killing and dying. It frightened her. But she wanted to be strong and resilient. Cersei Lannister had seen her cry more than enough times. She would not have her tears today.

So Sansa took a deep breath and stayed perfectly calm, hiding behind a mask of courtesy, like a lady should. And she way a lady. The Lady of Winterfell.

To give her strength, Sansa thought of Winterfell and of the North, of summer snows and of direwolves, of the carefree days she had spend with her family before they left, and she dreamed that one day, somehow, she would feel carefree again. She prayed to the old gods and the new... and then a light appeared before her.

Sansa had never seen anything like it. It was so beautiful, so pure, so bright. The wildfire outside was dim in comparison. She knew she had to go into the light, she just knew it. So Sansa got up and determinedly walked right towards it, until the light was all there was, until she was one with its magic.

 

***

 

Sansa found herself standing in a meadow. She had never been here before, but somehow she knew where she was. These were the Riverlands, and the castle on the horizon was Riverrun, where her mother and aunt Lysa had grown up. Sansa could still feel the light inside her, giving her strength, telling her what to do. So she walked towards the castle.

On her way she saw a young boy and two girls standing under a tree. The girls were giggling, and their auburn hair shimmered in the sunlight. It was clear they were sisters because they looked very alike, but the younger girl was slightly plump whereas her older sister was slender and graceful. The younger girl was still laughing while she took her sister's hand and pulled her closer. “Come on, Cat”, she giggled. “You will get married to Brandon soon. You have to practice kissing! Kiss him! Come on, kiss Petyr!”

The boy was leaning lazily against the trunk. His clothes were more common than those of the girls, but he still looked very handsome. He had sharp features and awake grey-green eyes, and though slender built, his presence was mesmerizing. He was obviously enjoying being the center of attention.

Sansa recognized him as Petyr Baelish immediately.

Petyr grinned. “I am delighted to practice kissing with you, my lady Catelyn”, he japed with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Then he turned to her sister. “And with you, too, my lady Lysa.”

Lysa squealed in delight and threw herself into his arms. They shared a clumsy kiss, and when Petyr let go, Lysa was flushed and giggled even more.

Sansa couldn't help but smile. Her mother had told her she had grown up with Petyr, but she had never told her she had practiced kissing with him. Maybe her mother had had some secrets after all. The thought made Sansa laugh softly.

The sound of Sansa's laughter made Catelyn turn around. For the first time, Sansa saw her face. It was as if she was looking into a mirror. The young girl that would one day be Sansa's mother looked just like Sansa had her age. Cat didn't seem to notice it.

“And who are you?”, she asked with a cold tone in her voice.

Sansa didn't know what to say. Could she tell her her real name? She made a rash decision.

“My, uh, my name is Alayne Stone.” The name had just appeared in her mind. Sansa hoped she would remember it again.

“You must be the new serving girl”, observed Petyr. His eyes darted back and forth between Sansa and Cat, seeing how much they looked alike, but he didn't say anything. “Wylfred the cook has told me you start working today. Let me walk you to the kitchen.” He approached her with a smile and offered her his arm, and together they walked to the castle. And thus, Sansa's new life as Alayne began.

 

The following weeks Sansa tried to get close to her mother and befriend her, but that was a difficult task to undertake. The entire castle was buzzing with excitement for the arrival of Brandon Stark, Catelyn's fiance. Sansa spent all day working in the kitchen and preparing the elaborate feast that was planned to celebrate the union of the two Houses. But Sansa liked the work. She liked being able to see her mother, even if only for fleeting moments. And working here made her forget the horror she had left in King's Landing.

One night Sansa was walking across the deserted courtyard when she heard a faint whisper. “Are you hurt, my sweetling?” It was Petyr's voice, but Sansa didn't see him. And who was he talking to?

She hesitated for a while, not knowing what to do. Then she asked into the silence: “Petyr?”

Petyr jumped down from a nearby tree, and Sansa flinched. He laughed. “Poor Alayne, did I scare you? That was not my intention.” His boyish good looks were only highlighted by the soft glow of the setting sun.

Sansa smiled. “No, it's fine. I should not be frightened so easily. What were you doing in the tree?”

Petyr pondered the question for a while, as if he was deciding what to tell her. Then he responded: “There's a young mockingbird there. I found her mother dead under this tree, so I climbed up and fed it. It's meager and frightened, but I think I will be able to save it.”

Sansa was surprised. She would not have expected Petyr to have this soft side. He was so kind, so different from the cold, analytical Littlefinger she had met in King's Landing.

“Do you want to see it?”, offered Petyr.

“In the tree?”, Sansa asked. “I would love to, but I don't think I will be able to climb up. I have never climbed before.”

Petyr grinned. “It's easy. Come on, I'll show you.” He took Sansa's hand and walked her to the tree. Sansa looked up. It was so high. How was she supposed to climb it?

Petyr pointed out some branches that would support her weight and lead the way. It only took him a few heartbeats to reach the crown. Sansa swallowed hard and followed him.

“Very good!”, cheered Petyr from above. “Now put your left foot on that branch there. Good! You're almost done! Give me your hand, I will pull you up.”

Sansa took a deep breath and let go of the branch she was clawing onto. She reached out for Petyr's hand and held it tightly, and he pulled her towards him. He was still grinning when Sansa sat next to him on the branch. “Very good, Alayne. You are almost as good as me.”

“Don't say that”, replied Sansa with a smile. “I was only good because you showed me how to do it.”

“We all have to learn in the beginning”, mused Petyr. “Look, here's the mockingbird I was telling you about.”

The animal looked very frightened indeed, but when Petyr stretched out his arm, it immediately got up and opened its beak.

“She thinks you're her mother”, laughed Sansa. “Did you give her a name?”

Petyr blushed faintly and looked down. His answer was mumbled. “I'm calling her sweetling.”

Sansa felt a wave of affection wash over her. Young Petyr was incredibly sweet. He had always been kind to her and treated her with respect, regardless of her seemingly low birth, when she had started working in the kitchen. He was always smiling and laughing. And now he was caring for an orphaned animal. Sansa had never heard of a more charming young boy. What had happened to him that had turned him into the cold, calculating, unyielding schemer she had met in King's Landing?

Her hand took his before Sansa realized what she had done. But he didn't seem to mind. His fingers closed around her palm and squeezed it gently. And for a while they sat in the tree, holding hands, watching the little bird flutter around her nest.

Then a scream startled them. “What are you  _ doing _ there?”

Sansa immediately let go of Petyr hand and peered through the branches. Lysa was standing on the ground and looked up to them. She was furious.

“You evil little whore!”, she screamed. “Go back to the kitchen where you belong! What are you doing there? Did you lure Petyr into the tree to seduce him?”

Her voice grew shrill, her face a distorted mask. “Don't you see? He doesn't care for you, you despicable bastard! He's only nice to you because he is nice to everyone, but you mean nothing to him, do you hear me? Nothing!”

Suddenly Cat appeared next to her sister. “Lysa, stop shouting”, she hushed her. “It doesn't matter. Don't worry about him. He's just Petyr, our father's ward.”

She took Lysa into her arms, but that didn't stop the younger sister from sobbing. “He's not good enough for you!”, insisted Cat. “You will marry a highborn lord one day, like me. Oh, Lysa, forget about Petyr. I heard Brandon has a brother, Eddard. Maybe he will come to celebrate our engagement, too! And maybe you can marry him and then we can go to Winterfell together, wouldn't you like that? Being a Lady of the North? That's much better than being Petyr's wife, isn't it?”

She looked at Lysa with a serious expression. “Don't cry now. Come, let us go to the kitchen and steal a flask of wine. I'm feeling especially wicked today, don't you?”

Cat dragged Lysa towards the kitchen and the two girls walked away, Lysa still crying, Catelyn whispering to her in soothing tones.

Next to her, Petyr took a few deep, forced breaths. Sansa was silent. She didn't know what to say. So she just watched the mockingbird for a while until he spoke.

“I'm sorry Lysa said that about you.”

Sansa looked at him. “I'm sorry Catelyn said that about you.”

Petyr's eyes filled with sadness. It hurt Sansa to see him like this. “You like her, don't you?”, she asked.

Petyr didn't respond for a while and averted his eyes. When he looked at Sansa again, his face was unyielding, like a mask. For the first time, Sansa saw the emotionless expression of Littlefinger on young Petyr.

“The Tullys have always valued impeccable bloodlines over everything else.  _ Family, Duty, Honor _ , those are their words, and they will do everything to be true to them. I will find my own place in this world.”

Sansa thought about his words for a while. She wanted to tell him that he would indeed find his own place, that she knew his future self, and she wanted to tell him what a successful man he would become. But that would have sounded mad. She was Alayne, the serving girl. Alayne didn't know about the future. So Sansa kept quiet.

Petyr and Sansa sat in the tree for a little while until the sun had sunk. Then he helped her climb down, turned around wordlessly, and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, the Starks arrived.

Sansa could almost grasp her mother's nervousness with her bare hands. When young Catelyn walked into the courtyard, wearing her finest dress, her auburn locks shimmering after being brushed for hours, she looked more beautiful than Sansa had ever seen her before. Cat's eyes sparkled with excitement, with fear of making a mistake and repelling Brandon, with concentration to behave like a young lady and make her family proud. And Cat moved more graciously than ever. Every batting of her eyelashes was rehearsed to perfection, every smile trained in front of a mirror. Catelyn Tully was truly worthy of becoming Brandon Stark's wife, a Northern Lady, the Queen of Winterfell.

Brandon saw it, too. From the moment he got off his horse and introduced himself to his betrothed, he had only eyes for her. It was clear he was smitten by her beauty, her grace, her wits. The more he and Cat talked together, the more Cat relaxed, until her tension was gone and she was herself again, as gentle and noble as ever.

Sansa watched the scene with tears in her eyes. This must have been one of the happiest days her mother had ever spent. It reminded her of the day she had welcomed Prince Joffrey when he had arrived in Winterfell, and how excited and scared she had been, and how hopeful. And Sansa saw her uncle Brandon for the first time, a man in flesh and blood, not just a statue in the crypts beneath the castle she had once called her home. He was so different from her father Ned. Brandon was tall, strong, with long, shining black hair. He was so confident it seemed almost arrogant, so unlike the humble and modest Ned. But they had the same eyes: The grey eyes of a Stark.

Sansa had to remember that nobody knew who she was. To Catelyn she was just Alayne, another kitchen maid, and to Brandon she wasn't even that, so clearly beneath him that he didn't even notice her.

Petyr hadn't talked to Sansa since he had shown her the mockingbird. Sansa had tried to talk to him, to be kind to him, to make him forget what Cat had said about him, but every time he had seen her, he had turned away. Was it because Sansa and Catelyn looked so very much alike? Or was it because he was ashamed? Sansa didn't know, and she didn't care. She just wanted to see Petyr smile again, the way he had when they had first climbed the tree.

Now Petyr was sitting in this same tree again, next to Sansa, watching the Starks and the Tullys greet each other from the distance. Sansa tore her eyes away from the scene and looked at Petyr. His gaze was as observant as ever, but the faint smile that usually played with his lips was gone. Now his lips formed a thin, unforgiving line, as if he was trying to keep them from trembling.

It broke Sansa's heart to see him like this.

This was it, wasn't it? She already knew what would happen. Petyr would fight Brandon, and Brandon would win and leave him with a scar, stretching from navel to collarbone. The story had been whispered to Sansa countless times.

Petyr took a deep breath and straightened up. He looked at Sansa, and a crooked, forced smile appeared on his lips. “You should get back to the kitchen, Alayne”, he said in a shaky voice. “They will need every help they can get to prepare for tonight's feast.”

Sansa knew he was right, but she didn't care. She couldn't bring herself to leave him alone. Because then this might be the last time she saw Petyr before the duel... She shook her head. “No, I want to stay here. With you.” A shy smile appeared on her lips.

Petyr's expression became harder still. “But I don't want to stay with you”, he hissed, climbed down, and rushed away.

His words hurt Sansa like the blade of a dagger. She wanted to run after him and tell him jokes and make him laugh again, but she knew it wouldn't help. And that broke her heart more than anything.

_How strange_ , mused the voice in her head,  _that you have come to care so much for Littlefinger... Weren't you always frightened of him, of his cold, calculating eyes? Didn't you once have a nightmare that he would steal you away?_

“That was _different”,_ Sansa said aloud, trying to shoo away her thoughts. “I didn't know him back then.”

_You still don't_ , teased the voice.  _You think you do, but you don't. You know Petyr, yes... But you don't know Littlefinger. He has yet to become Littlefinger..._

Sansa had to admit it was true. She knew Petyr, the sweet and kind and gentle Petyr. But since he had heard Catelyn say these things about him – these horrible, awful things – Sansa had seen him change. So far it was barely noticeable, but Sansa knew it would break free when he lost the duel...

_If he lost the duel._

“But what if the duel never happens?”, whispered Sansa into the shadows around her. “What if I stop him from ever talking to Brandon?” It was such an intriguing idea, and here, alone with her thoughts, it seemed so possible, so desirable...

“What if I prevent the duel? Would that change time? Would I make it better?”

The shadows were silent.

 

***

 

The feast that night was more extravagant than anything Sansa had ever seen, even in King's Landing. She worked tirelessly in the kitchen, preparing the twelve courses, washing the dishes, refilling countless flasks of wine. Every time she was allowed to go to the great hall to see if there was anything she could attend to, the vibrant energy and laughter of the party embraced her. Sansa had a wonderful time, even working. Catelyn and Brandon had the places of honor amid the dinner guests, enthroned over the room from their place at the front side of the hall. All night Brandon doted upon Catelyn, feeding her from his fork, refilling her wineglass, japing with her. And Catelyn let him woo her, ever the highborn lady, smiling and laughing at his jokes but never being too intimate, too scandalous.

The other guests seemed to be enjoying themselves a s well. They were discussing the reign of King Aery's II with concern, calling him the _Mad_ _King,_ playing cards, sharing stories from their travels through Westeros and across the Narrow Sea. Only Petyr, sitting at a table across the room, among the other lowborn guests, still had the same cold look on his face. He eyed Brandon and Catelyn, at the far end of the hall, and his look was filled with disdain. Sansa wondered if she should talk to him, but what should she have said? She didn't know if there was anything she could say to make it better. Besides, she had work to do. So she rushed back and forth between the kitchen and the great hall, always trying to catch a glimpse of Petyr, never seeing him smile.

Later Sansa saw Lysa talking to Petyr. He seemed engaged in the conversation, but Sansa noted that he was leaning slightly back in his chair, with his legs crossed so they were pointing away from the girl that would one day become her aunt. Lysa didn't seem to mind, and her eyes sparkled as she gabbled happily. Sansa watched the scene for a while until Petyr looked up and his eyes met hers. He held her gaze. Did Sansa see something different in his expression? Anger, sadness? She couldn't tell. It was gone too quickly, and Petyr turned his attention to Lysa again. Sansa turned to the other guests and continued refilling their glasses.

Suddenly someone took her arm, and Sansa flinched. She heard a light chuckle. “Still frightened so easily, Alayne?”

“Petyr!” Sansa was glad to see him again. “What are you doing here? Weren't you talking to Lysa?”

“I was”, replied Petyr nonchalantly. “And now I'm talking to you.” But his eyes moved back and forth between Sansa and Catelyn while he was saying it. Then Petyr asked: “May I ask for this dance?”

“A dance?”, Sansa echoed, aghast. “But... I can't, I work here... This is no place for me...”

She nodded towards the dance floor where the guests were moving to the music. It was so sophisticated, so elegant. A serving girl had no business there.

“We don't have to dance _here”,_ smiled Petyr. “Come, let us go outside, in the courtyard. We will still be able to hear the music there, and we will be alone.” And without waiting for her response, he took her hand and led her outside, after throwing a last, deep glance at Catelyn and Brandon.

Sansa's heart was fluttering in her chest. Petyr Baelish had just asked her to dance! She was surprised how excited she felt about that.  _He's only doing it to make Cat jealous_ , she repeated over and over in her mind.  _He doesn't care for you, he only cares for her. Don't be such a fool._ But Sansa couldn't help herself. When was the last time someone had asked her to dance? She couldn't remember. King's Landing was not a place of dancing these days.

Petyr led her across the courtyard, right under the window of the great hall. He had not promised too much: The music and the chattering from the great hall were clearly audible. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Do you know how to dance?”

“Of course I do”, replied Sansa before she could remind herself that she was Alayne, a bastard, who had no need for dancing. But Petyr didn't seem confused. He gripped her hand tightly but gently, smiled at her, and took his first step. And the dance began.

For a while, Sansa forgot everything but the way they moved to the music. Petyr was an impeccable dancer, never missing a step, always moving to the rhythm. All Sansa had to do was led him lead her, and he did with such grace and confidence that she lost herself in the moment. The soft moonlight bathed the courtyard in a silver shimmer and reflected in his grey-green eyes, and the wind played softly in her hair... Petyr slightly squeezed Sansa's hand to lead her into a new direction, and it was like a burst of energy shot through her. She liked it.

The dance seemed to last for hours. One song changed into another, and then another, but Petyr never let go of Sansa's hand and swayed her wordlessly through the night. From time to time a smirk stole over his lips, but it was always gone in a heartbeat.

Suddenly someone cleared her throat, and Sansa was brought back to reality. She turned around and saw Catelyn standing there, watching them from afar. Petyr saw her, too. He immediately let go of Sansa's hand and took a step back from her. “Lady Catelyn!” A smile spread over his face, and this time it wasn't gone after a moment, it lingered, making his eyes sparkle and calling forth small dimples in his cheeks.

Catelyn smiled graciously at Petyr. “Could we speak for a moment, Petyr? Alone?”

Petyr's smile became even brighter now. “Yes, of course, my lady. Let me walk you to the woods, shall we?” He offered her his arm, and she took it and followed him into the darkness. He did not say another word to Sansa.

Sansa felt rage rise inside her. She was furious that Petyr had left her like that, furious that Catelyn hadn't even acknowledged she was there and dancing with Petyr. But she was most furious with herself. She had known of Petyr's feelings for her mother, and still she had forgotten about them and just enjoyed herself for a fleeting moment...  _You foolish girl. Joy never lasts._

Sansa couldn't go back to the kitchen and work now, she was too agitated. She needed to take a walk and clear her mind. So she followed Petyr and Catelyn into the old woods flanking the castle.

It had been Godswoods once, Sansa saw that at once. The white, eerie weirwood tree still had a face carved into it, but it was old and weathered and looked torn.  _Even the gods have left this place._

Petyr and Catelyn were standing under the heart tree, deep in conversation. Sansa sneaked closer.

“Are you happy, Cat?”, she heard Petyr whisper in a broken voice.

“It doesn't matter if I'm happy”, answered Cat softly. “This is my duty. My father has arranged this marriage to strengthen the bond between our houses. And it's my honor to fulfill his plans. But, to answer to question, yes, I think I am happy.”

Petyr said nothing for a while and just looked at Catelyn. Sansa had never seen so much sadness in his eyes. His right hand trembled for a moment, as if he was trying to win back control, but then he raised it and took a strand of Cat's long auburn hair in his hand. He played with it for a while, and Cat just looked back at him with a sad smile and granted him this favor. Then she sighed deeply, took his hand and moved it away from her hair. But she didn't let go of his hand.

“Did I interrupt your dance earlier?”, she asked Petyr.

He shook his head. “No... It was just with Alayne, it's not... She's not...” He sighed “It doesn't matter.”

Cat was still holding his hand. “But you like her, don't you?”

Sansa's heart beat faster.  _Please, say yes now_ , she begged Petyr silently before she realized what she just thought. She bit her lip in anger.

“It doesn't matter if I like her. I love _you”,_ whispered Petyr helplessly and took a step towards Catelyn, but she drew back.

“Petyr, no”, she said softly, but with a firm voice. “I'm sorry. But I can't.” She smiled at him apologetically. “We are too different, you and I. I wouldn't make you happy.”

Petyr drew breath to speak, but she did not let him. “But I want you to be happy, Petyr. You deserve it. I love you like a brother.”

He gave a pained groan, and Cat smiled. “I know your feelings for me are different. But you are so young, Petyr. You will forget me soon and find someone who makes you truly happy, happier than I could ever make you.” She hesitated for a moment before she added: “Just like me and Brandon... I hope.”

Sansa had tears in her eyes. This was the first time she saw young Cat be as warm and sweet as Sansa remembered her. It was the first time the girl that would one day become Sansa's mother was not a highborn lady, but a normal girl. Sansa knew how important the Tully words had always been to her mother –  _Family, Duty, Honor_ . She had lived by them, every day. Tonight as well.

_And she has died for them._

Cat straightened up. “Come, Petyr, let us walk back to the feast. I am sure Brandon is looking for me already. He seemed rather smitten with me, don't you think? I'm glad he is.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently, and hand in hand they walked back to the castle. Sansa retracted into the shadows and watched them pass her, Catelyn so optimistic and hopeful, Petyr trying to maintain a dignified exterior but failing miserably. The tears burned in her eyes long after Petyr and Cat had left, and Sansa let them flow freely. She was alone. Not even the Gods would hear her weep.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa could not remember how long she had stayed in the empty godswoods that night. When she woke up the next morning, her head still spinning from the wine, she was half certain it had all been a dream... but Petyr's words still echoed in her mind. “It does not matter if I like Alayne, I love you...”

Wherever she went that day, the echo seemed to follow her, as if the scene repeated itself again and again in her mind. _Just like all these days, since I came here_ , Sansa thought. _They are repeating themselves as well..._ And then she realized it.

_My time here is coming to an end._

That was why the scene from last night seemed to be stuck in her mind. And that was why she had been feeling so strange all day... It was not because of the wine. It was because something, time itself maybe, was pulling her back. Fear and panic rose in her. It was too early. She was not done yet. There were still things she had to do.

Sansa rushed through the rest of her chores, her heart pounding in her chest. With every beating of her heart, she heard the same words. _No time. No time. No time._ It drowned out all else, all the doubts and uncertainties and unanswered questions. Sansa _had_ to do this, she had to find a way... She had to save Petyr. She ran out into the bailey, trying to ignore the feeling in her chest, the feeling of iron fists grabbing her and trying to pull her back. _No,_ she screamed in her head. _I cannot go back, not now._ She had to remember. Where was the armory? How long had Brandon been here? Had Petyr challenged him to a duel after three or four days? How much time did she have left? Or was it already too late? She arrived at the armory, frantic and out of breath and scared it would be too late. Did Petyr even have his own sword? There were so many things she did not know, so many uncertainties. This was absolute madness. Her chest felt tighter than ever now, and everything in her screamed to go back. But she continued nonetheless. Sansa rummaged through the armory, hoping, praying, that she would somehow find a sword, Petyr's sword. _And even if I find it, what then?_ She did not know. Should she simply hide it? _Oh, what are you thinking, you foolish girl? Petyr would simply take another sword. I cannot prevent this._ But she had to try. Maybe, if she talked to Petyr, it would all be well in the end.

The iron shackles around her chest gripped her even tighter. Sansa exhaled sharply as the pain hit her. _No corset has ever been so tight._ Her vision became blurry, and for a moment she felt darkness descend upon her, but she forced herself to stay awake. She stumbled forward, blind with pain and the struggle that was raging inside her. Where could she go now? Left, right, down to the river or into the great hall? Or maybe to the stables? She looked all around her, panicking, trying to see everything at once... And suddenly she heard his voice. “Alayne?”

She spun around. Petyr was standing in front of her, a concerned look on his face. “Alayne, are you ill? You look unwell. Should I bring you to the maester?” He gently took her hand. “Your palms are sweaty. Do you have a fever? Look at you, you're knees are so weak...”

She almost fainted into his arms then. Every breath only came after a fiery struggle. She could not withstand the inevitable much longer. Sansa feared it and awaited it all the same. She had to think fast. First she had to gain his trust somehow. Her head spun. “ How is the mockingbird? Did you save her?”

Petyr still eyed her with concern. “Are you certain you do not need a maester?”

“Yes,” Sansa forced herself to say. “Please, just tell me. What happened to Sweetling?”

A proud smile stole across his face. “She flew away this morning. I hope--”

“Let's fly away, too.” She was so certain.

Petyr chuckled in disbelief. “What?”

Sansa's eyes found his. Gods, she could have drowned in his grey-green eyes then and there... Her mind was racing, trying to find the words to convince him.“Let's just run away together...” The iron fists around her chest gripped even tighter. It hurt so bad it brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Please, let's just run away... Let's go to the stables, and steal two horses, and run.”

Petyr smiled sadly, and for a moment it almost seemed as if he was pondering her idea. “Where would we run to?”

Sansa felt the darkness claim her. She took one last breath. “Freedom.”

 

***

 

She woke up in warm, sunny chambers. It was clean and bright, and her bed was as comfortable as ever. Outside, the familiar sounds of King's Landing created their own kind of music. But in her chambers, nothing made a sound. She had not a care in the world. Sansa took a deep breath--

and then shrieked in horror as the memories flushed back. _Petyr._ _The_ _duel._ What happened? She had to find out.

Sansa got her answer later that day, when she went to court in the throne room. The herald cried “Lord Petyr Baelish,” and he stepped forth, looking just as he had always looked and yet different all the same. Sansa's heart beat faster. _So I did not prevent the duel_ , she realized sadly. Petyr never would have risen this high if he had not been fueled by his grief and loss, Sansa was certain. She felt guilty and powerless all of a sudden. _I wanted to save him, but I could not. His song ended, just as mine did. The world truly is cruel._ His words echoed through her mind again. _Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow._

 _Petyr,_ she wanted to call out to him, _do you remember me? I was Alayne, and we were friends, and I wanted to run away with you once, in a different life. I could have been your song, and you could have been mine, and together we could have been music._ But she said nothing. Court was no place for her to speak up, and besides, she was nothing to Petyr, just a stupid little bird in a cage. He did not care for her, not like he had cared for Alayne. The realization hurt more than she could say. She sullenly watched as Petyr was granted the castle of Harrenhal. _It was my grandmother's family's seat, and now it is his_ , she thought bitterly. _Does Petyr even know this?_ She could not say why the mention of Harrenhal had made her so melancholic all of a sudden. She felt as if Petyr had taken it from her, but that was folly. Harrenhal had not belonged to House Whent for a while now, and even if it had, it would have never passed to Sansa, not so long as there were male heirs who came before her. But she still could not shake that eery sensation that Harrenhal was hers by right and that one day, she should claim it. _Lady Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Harrenhal_ , whispered a voice in her head, and she had to smile to herself. She liked the sound of it. _I will rally my bannermen, and we will swear fealty to Robb, the King in the North, and then we will kill the Lannisters and mount their heads on the spikes of the walls of Winterfell... All except Joffrey's. His head, we'll put upon the walls of Harrenhal, so I can watch him rot and the crows pick out his eyes._ Resilience danced within her like wildfire. _But I must never say this,_ she reminded herself. _I must be the little bird they want me to be, and hide these thoughts of treason. No one can know what I am thinking... Not even Petyr. He would not care, anyway._

 

***

 

And before long, it was Joffrey's wedding day. _Poor Margaery_ , Sansa thought for the hundredth time. _She is being wed to a monster._ Sansa watched the wedding as if in a haze. During the feast plate after plate was set before her, but what was served she barely noticed. She watched the singers and the jousting dwarfs and the presentation of the pie, and she watched her husband bear the king's cup and serve him his win, but she did not see it, not truly. In her thoughts, she was Alayne again, and Petyr was with her, and King's Landing was far, far away. It was the only dream she dared to dream these days. She knew it would never come true, so there was no harm in it.

Then she watched the king start to cough. And she heard Margaery gasp. “He's choking!” And when the tumult was raging all around her, she slipped out of the throne room unnoticed and ran. _He's dead, he's dead, he's dead_. The words were the sweetest music she had heard in a long time. _Dead, dead, dead._ Ser Dontos met her in the godswood, and together they fled. He led her out of the city, down to the river, and to a boat, and the oarsman rowed them out to a ship. Sansa did no know what would await her, and she did not know whether to be afraid. If she had learned on thing, it was that it could always get worse than it was. She climbed up a ladder and onto a ship, where she stood shivering with fear and cold.

“She's cold,” she heard someone say. He took off his cloak and put it around her shoulders. _It is as if this was a wedding_ , Sansa thought. _The groom always puts his cloak around his bride's shoulders_. _He even sounds like Petyr, my mystery groom._ As soon as the thoughts crossed her mind, Sansa felt ashamed. She was behaving so stupid. Had she not learned anything in the past months? And yet, after all she had witnessed she still thought of Petyr. It annoyed her more than she could say.

“There, is that better, my lady?” He still sounded so much like Petyr. His tone was soft and gentle, swaying to the sweet, sinful melody Petyr spoke with, as if he kissed each word before he spoke. “Rest easy, the worst is past and done.”

 _It is Petyr_ , she realized. _He has come to save me, like I have come to save him, long ago_. Only she had failed. Sansa prayed he would not. Around her, Petyr and his men were preparing their departure. _He has stolen me away from the Lannisters, and now he will take me to freedom._ Sansa did not know where, but as long as Petyr was with her, she knew she would like it. She scarcely dared to hope. _Would that my song began anew._ But there were so many questions left unanswered... She turned to him. “Why did you send Ser Dontos?”

Petyr smiled at her, and Sansa realized that his smile did not reach his eyes. Not like it used to. “I dared not befriend you openly. I had to play everyone false.”

 _He's Littlefinger, cold, scheming, analytical_ , Sansa thought, and it almost broke her heart. “Is it _all_ lies, forever and ever, everyone and everything?”

“Almost everyone. Save you and I, of course.”

 _I would like that,_ she thought. _You and I._ But she kept her thoughts to herself. And yet the faint hope in her grew and grew. _You and I_ , she repeated to herself. _Petyr and me._ It had a sweet sound. 

Petyr took her hand. “Let me show you to your cabin. You have had a long and trying day, I know. You must be weary.”

She was weary, but it was nothing compared to her excitement. He had not forgotten her! Even though she was nothing to him but some traitor's daughter, he had come back to save her. Could she tell him she had been Alayne, a thousand years ago? The idea was mad. _Don't be so foolish. He would never believe you._ But she wanted to say something, anything, to show him how much this meant to her. How thankful she was. She desperately searched her brain for the adequate words.

Petyr must have mistaken this for worry, for he looked at her, his eyes deep and sincere. _And grey-green, just like then_ , Sansa realized. _After all this time, they are still awake and mesmerizing, and I could still drown in them. Petyr's words interrupted her thoughts._ “Put Joffrey from your mind, sweetling.”

And Sansa knew what she had to say. She smiled coyly. “Sweetling,” she repeated softly. Petyr seemed at a loss for words for a moment. Sansa raised her hand and softly touched the enamel mockingbird he used to fasten his tunic. “And your sigil... A mockingbird,” she whispered.

Petyr looked astounded. Sansa smiled at him, more daring now, and moved closer to his face. “I know why you took this for your sigil,” she breathed into his ear.

Petyr slowly turned his head, but he did not move back. He was so close Sansa could scarcely see him, but she could feel his breath on the bare skin of her neck. “How do you know this?” he whispered back. “Did your mother--”

“Alayne,” was all Sansa replied. His scent tickled her nose, musky and heavy and intoxicating. She was slowly beginning to lose her senses. Petyr's breath had become a little faster now, still tickling her naked skin. But he was not touching her. “You look just like her,” he murmured, his voice coarse all of a sudden, strained. It send a shiver down Sansa's spine. “But how--”

“I _was_ her,” she confessed softly, her eyes long closed, drowning in this moment, almost feeling one with him, the world around her forgotten. Close to her, deliciously close, Petyr exhaled sharply, but he did not respond. For half an eternity they stood like this, just shy of touching each other and yet so close Sansa could feel the heat radiating from his body, and every second of it Sansa forced herself to remember, to burn into her mind, fearing that it might be the last time Petyr would ever be so close.

When she finally felt him move next to her, a pang of disappointment washed over her, but he did not move away from her. A moment later she felt his hand on the small of her back, and the sensation came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that she gasped in surprise and shock and pleasure. His touch sent fervent waves of heat through her body, more intense than anything she had ever experienced. Then his other hand went to her neck, and be buried his fingers deep in her hair. This time Sansa did not gasp. This time, she moaned. He pulled her closer until her waist was pressed against his. Through the layers of their clothes, Sansa could feel his manhood beginning to harden. Her breath was spurting, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. His fingers grabbed a handful of hair and gently but firmly pulled her head back, so he could look at her face. Another moan escaped her lips. “Alayne,” he whispered, his voice filled with a beautiful sadness. “How is this possible?”

“I do not know,” Sansa moaned, desperately trying to focus on the conversation, fighting a losing battle against the passion that was crashing over her in fiery waves. “It was during the Battle of the Blackwater, there was a—a light, and I went into it. Gods, it sounds like madness, Petyr, but you have to believe me, it's true.”

His hand was still buried in her hair, and he let go of it for a moment to grab a handful again, tighter and harder now. Sansa could feel the muscles in her neck clenching as she tried to balance out his grip. The flames in her were wilder than ever before now, her greed hungry and red and washing out all else. She felt so hot she could have sworn she had a fever, but no fever had ever left her so desperate. She saw herself in Petyr's eyes, and his eyes spoke lust. “They say wildfire is magic,” he whispered, his voice flat and shaking, as if he was frantically trying to restrain himself, to hold on to the control Sansa had long abandoned. “Do you believe me, then?” she croaked between two fiery breaths.

Petyr leaned in, and the closer he came, the more Sansa felt what was left of her wits deserting her. Who cared if he believed her or not, as long as would finally kiss her... When he spoke, she could feel the heat of his words on her lips. “How could you lie to me, when you look like her?”

Before Sansa could think of something to respond, he had closed the distance between them. When his lips finally touched his, Sansa felt aflame with longing. She greedily opened her mouth under him, desperate to taste him, and just as eagerly his tongue darted forward and skilfully tickled her lips. Sansa whimpered with pleasure. She had never been kissed like this, she had never even known anyone could be kissed like this, but now Petyr was showing her, and she was loving what he had to teach, learning it frantically and desperately and oh, so willingly.

The flames within her consumed her and she was burning brightly and dancing in the fires. Sansa dissolved in this kiss and gave everything to Petyr, her body, her mind, her soul. And he took it all, clinging to her just as hungrily, as if he was drowning and she was all that could save him. His hands wandered over her body, touching her, feeling her, pulling her closer to him, and every time he grabbed her Sansa moaned in delight.

It seemed like hours had passed when she finally broke off the kiss, her lips swollen, her hair tousled. His kiss had left her breathless, and she desperately tried to steady herself, to regain the control she had so willingly abandoned, but her shaking limbs and her beating heart made it impossible. A smile spread on her lips before she could fight it back, and bright, soft laughter rang in her throat. Petyr grinned at her, and he looked just like the boy again, scarcely fifteen. He leaned in and softly kissed the laughter from her lips. “Alayne, my love,” he murmured, so low Sansa could scarcely hear the words. “I have been waiting for seventeen years, sweetling.”

 


End file.
